Chapter 5 – Author
1287 Words
Author
Jax woke already irritated, body still heavy from a late-night drift that had pushed too close to recklessness. He lay still for a moment, listening — a woman’s voice, sharp with frustration, rising and falling in uneven bursts.
He didn’t move.
Outside, Glenn Renner stood in the middle of her lawn, phone pressed to her ear, pacing in front of a large, upright package that looked entirely out of place against the neat order of her house.
“No, that’s not what I said,” she snapped into the phone. “You can’t just leave something like this—”
The line went dead.
She pulled the phone away slowly, stared at it, then dragged a hand down her face. The canvas towered in front of her, taller than she was, wide enough to require planning instead of strength. Wrapped, sealed, unapologetic.
She stared at it longer than necessary.
Not helpless.
Calculating.
She circled it once. Then again. One hand pressed to her cheek, the other anchored on her hip. Her movements were restless, controlled irritation leaking through a posture that refused to give up.
She didn’t know she was being watched.
Jax pressed his palms on his eyes. The warmth relaxing the heaviness. As much as he liked to be woken up by her, he didn’t like to interrupt his sleep.
He didn’t intervene in her business. He woke up. Showered. Let the water burn the night off his skin. Pulled on black sweatpants and a black vest, fabric clinging to a body still warm, veins visible beneath sun-touched skin. He poured coffee, ate standing, went on with his morning without urgency.
An hour later, headset in place, he pulled the curtain aside.
She was still there.
Still pacing.
Still circling. He figured she wants it to be moved inside but couldn’t find a way to do it. It must be something related to her work otherwise if not lift it, she could at least drag it inside. She’s watching it as if it’s a fragile thing.
An hour later he got down to his garage. He opened the garage, the sound of metal and movement cutting across the quiet street. She was still THERE.
That was what finally made him change his mind. He is going to involve in her business.
Not concern.
Intolerance.
He crossed the bushes that were pretending to separate their houses with one swipe of his leg. Glenn didn’t turn. Too busy finding a way to lift that damn thing. She was crouched now, fingers testing the weight, trying to find leverage where there wasn’t any.
The canvas lifted.
Not gradually.
Instantly.
She turned sharply. “What the…”
Jax had already hoisted it onto one shoulder, his body barely adjusting to the weight. One arm braced, the other relaxed, posture unstrained. Black against skin. Muscle shifting under fabric with the casual certainty of a man built to carry things and not think about it.
“Where’s the back door?” he asked.
He didn’t wait for an answer.
He started walking.
She stared for half a second — disbelief flashing across her face — then hurried after him.
“Wait—don’t—careful—”
He didn’t slow. Didn’t adjust. The narrow hallway cleared by inches he judged without looking.
She rushed ahead to open the door, breath uneven now — not from effort, but from the speed at which control was slipping.
“In here,” she said sharply. “And don’t let it bump anything.” And hovered her hands around in the air like she was protecting it with her mind.
He passed her, filling the space with his presence, the room recalibrating around him without permission.
“I know.”
He set the canvas down precisely where it belonged. No scraping. No impact. No wasted movement.
Two minutes.
Done.
She stood staring at it, arms hanging uselessly at her sides, the last hour collapsing into silence.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she said.
He straightened slowly, rolling his shoulder once like the weight had never existed.
“I know.”
She lifted her chin. “Thanks.” She sounded like the words tasted muddy.
He looked at her then.
Up close, the difference was unmistakable.
From across the street, he was a big man.
Up close, he was presence. Unmistakable and undeniable presence.
Tall enough that her gaze tilted upward without conscious choice. Broad enough that the air felt displaced. His body didn’t crowd her — it claimed space simply by standing there.
It was intimidating. She felt so small and threatened in her own house. But she refused to let it show in her presence. So, she fixes her stature and took a brave independent woman stance.
“Two hours. You were still standing there,” he said. “It was stupid.”
Her jaw tightened. “I would’ve figured it out.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “Eventually.” He mumbled.
The word landed with surgical precision. But she shoves it down and said “Can I offer you something?” he snapped his head faster than she expected.
A phantom of mischief dancing on his face. She then realized it sounded wrong. She recovered and did not show any embarrassment and asked
“Coffee? Drink? Cookies?” pasting a polite smile. He helped her after all.
He didn’t react. He marched outside without a word.
Arrogant. She thought.
Silence settled — dense, charged.
On his way out, his attention snagged on a small device mounted above the frame.
He stopped. Raised a finger.
“What’s that?”
“The security camera,” she said, following his gaze. “Why?”
He tilted his head slightly, studying it. He knew there were no cameras before. But she didn’t need to know how he knew that.
“When did you install them?” he asked.
“Two days ago,” she said quickly.
He glanced at her, one brow lifting — not accusing, just noting.
Something unreadable passed over his face. A question he didn’t bother voicing. ‘Was that for me?’
“Interesting,” he said.
“Does it belong to the next neighbours?” he said in his thick voice.
“What? No, it’s not. Why would their security camera be placed here?” she retorted. Probably assumed he is a moron.
“It’s watching the wrong entrance.” He said casually.
“That doesn’t—”
He adjusted it. He didn’t need a ladder, not even a stool. He just lifts his hand and twisted it.
A single, precise movement.
Click.
The lens now faced her front door.
Her phone was already in her hand, confusion creasing her expression as she checked the feed.
“How did you—”
“It was already wrong,” he said. “You were just looking at it.”
She hesitated. “When did you notice?”
“Long enough.”
Knowing that he already helped with two things today itself, she couldn’t just ignore him. So, she called after him.
“I’m Glenn. Glenn Renner” she extended a hand. I know he thought.
He stopped. He stepped closer again — not touching, not trapping — but near enough that the space between them felt intentional.
“You didn’t want introductions earlier” he said.
She pressed her lips together and shrugged.
He turned and walked away.
Behind him, the camera watched the correct door.
And Glenn Renner stood very still in her hallway, heart racing, control unsettled — not because someone had helped her, but because someone had ended her resistance without asking.
“Jax Calder” he announced louder on the way to the front door.
- Writer
